Joseph Andrews: “Knowledge of Men is only to be learnt from Books”

As I wrote in the earlier blog post about Joseph Andrews, Henry Fielding takes from Don Quixote the picaresque form: two—and later three—characters travel together and meet other characters along the way and sometimes the strangers may tell stories, creating some interpolated tales. Fielding also gets the inspiration to create a quixotic figure: Parson Adams is a good man, an idealistic man, a man who wants to do good and doesn’t mind using force to save the innocent, but he is absent-minded and naïve and “never saw farther into people than they desired to let him” (Vol.1, ch.10).

Like Don Quixote, he’s a reader. Parson Adams says to Joseph:  

“Knowledge of Men is only to be learnt from Books, Plato and Seneca for that; and those are Authors, I am afraid, Child, you never read.” (Vol.2, ch.16)

Of course, I myself have always said that we will never know a person in real life as well as we know Tolstoy’s characters, but we see over and over again that this man of learning is not particularly good at reading people. 

He also says to his host:  

“I will inform thee; the travelling I mean is in Books, the only way of travelling by which any Knowledge is to be acquired.” (Vol.2, ch.17)

This starts a heated discussion, in which he says “Trade, as Aristotle proves in his first Chapter of Politics, is below a Philosopher”, unaware of his own condescending and insulting tone, and gets refuted by the host: 

“Of what use would Learning be in a Country without Trade? What would all you Parsons do to clothe your Backs and feed your Bellies? Who fetches you your Silks, and your Linens, and your Wines, and all the other Necessaries of Life? I speak chiefly with regard to the Sailors.” (ibid.) 

In the character of Parson Adams, Fielding combines goodness and ridiculousness. Abraham Adams may not be a madman like Don Quixote, but he too is delusional—his delusion is that knowledge of life and people can be learnt from books alone, that he understands people better than someone without learning.

Fielding also pokes fun at him. When Mr Wilson relates the story of his life, for example, Parson Adams mentions his sermon against vanity and says “I am confident you would admire it: indeed, I have never been a greater Enemy to any Passion than that silly one of Vanity.” (Vol.3, ch.3) 

Mr Wilson smiles, and goes on with his story. 

Parson Abraham Adams is a very good creation. Likeable, believable. 

The chief flaw of Joseph Andrews though is that the travelling companions are not interesting together, that the novel lacks balance. In Parson Adams, Fielding creates a likeable and rounded character, but what is Joseph Andrews like? What is his personality? He’s barely there. We’re following them on a trip—later joined by Joseph’s girl Fanny Goodwill—but why should I care where they are going and what they are doing and whom they are meeting if I do not care about them both? Look at Don Quixote. Cervantes may be a bit careless about Sancho Panza at the beginning, focusing on Don Quixote, but he soon adds flesh to Sancho. Next to Don Quixote, Sancho too is full of life, Sancho too is interesting and individual. The two of them act as foil to each other, holding our interest—they go on adventures, they banter, they bicker, they bond, they gradually change each other. 

Even if you argue that Joseph Andrews is its own thing and we shouldn’t judge other books against Don Quixote (a contender for the title of greatest novel of all time), my point stands that Fielding’s travelling companions lack interaction and Joseph Andrews—the eponymous character!—doesn’t have much of a personality. 

Some readers would however say that Fielding makes up for it by his own presence: the narrator is warm and good-humoured and generous; he values goodness and depicts people’s hypocrisy and selfishness but still comes across as humane and tolerant of human failings. 

I’m currently on Volume 3. The book has 4 volumes. Let’s see if Joseph and Fanny become more interesting.